


come on over, get drunk

by pxint



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 NHL Awards, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 11:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19355794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pxint/pseuds/pxint
Summary: “Do you feel good?”Leon gets the bottle back. Rinse and repeat. He’s dizzy this time. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Yeah, I feel good.”





	come on over, get drunk

**Author's Note:**

> the alternate universe where instead of wiping his tears with his giant contract, connor fucks his woes away. thank you, edmonton! 
> 
> title from “maria i’m drunk” by travis scott

It isn’t a party. 

Connor didn’t win anything. He hasn’t shaken the tenseness in his shoulders since he shut the hotel room door behind himself, since he shook off his suit, since he pulled the first alcoholic thing he could get his hands on out of the mini fridge. 

Leon sees it after getting out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair in nothing but his sweatpants and Connor looks at him like he’s already halfway tipsy. He’s in just his crisp white shirt and boxers. 

“Shit,” Connor says, and takes another swig from the can in his hands. “Fuck _everything_. I’m done.”

Leon raises his eyebrows at him. They’ve got one bed in the center of the room and Connor’s clearly taken full custody of it. If the limbs he’s got sprawled across the white sheets have anything to say about it at least.

“You’re done?” He asks, and eyes up whatever it is Connor has in his hand. It looks cheap. Leon can do cheap alcohol if that’s what Connor wants. If Connor can let go of sipping fancy aged champagne for one night, yeah. Leon can do that. 

“Yeah, I’m.” He pauses. Inhales. Leon watches him swallow the breath, watches him run a hand through the mess of hair on his head. It’s hanging over his eyes. “Let’s get shitfaced.” 

Leon looks at him askance. “You do not wanna get shitfaced.” 

“Yes. Yeah, I do,” Connor breathes, setting the can in his hand against the nightstand. “Right here, though. There just isn’t enough — there’s barely any booze in the fridge.”

“I’ll get us wine from downstairs. A bottle, just between us. You okay with that?” 

Connor looks like he’s about to fall asleep, his eyes drooping, but he nods anyways, and Leon pulls on a shirt just to head out. 

“You’re crazy,” he says, while Leon slips on his shoes. “Someone’s gonna see you and freak.” 

“So?” Leon asks, and heads out the door.

-

Connor’s still up when Leon gets back. That’s the first part of the surprise.

Leon’s still expecting Connor to back down, to take one sip from the Freixenet he’s brought up and tuck himself into bed. Just to close himself off for the next week and wallow in losing. Losing after missing their ticket into the playoffs, after their rough run at the season, after seeing the guys in last place win the Cup. 

Leon just hands the black bottle to Connor and watches his face. Watches how emotion after emotion crystallizes over his skin, how he looks up at Leon and says, “give me your keys.” 

He’s gotta dig them out of his suitcase, but when he hands them over, Connor’s attention zeros in on tearing off the wrap with them, then unscrewing the cork, and Leon sits down next to him when he puts his lips to the rim of the bottle.

The cork goes god-knows-where, and Connor settles the keys right on the nightstand. Right then and there, he goes to down a few sips. His throat bobs dangerously and Leon wants to reach out and touch. But he likes looking just as much, likes seeing Connor liberate himself, likes just how flushed his face is when he pulls back. 

He lets out this quiet gasp and wipes the back of his palm over his lips. His mouth is red. The neck of the bottle fits perfectly in his hand. 

“You want?” Connor asks, his voice light, and holds out the bottle. His eyes are hot, hot, hot, and Leon takes the bottle before he can think too much.

He doesn’t drink as much as Connor did, he doesn’t think, but his throat burns with the bubbles as it goes down. It’s fizzy like champagne. The earthy taste is strong on his tongue, and he’s thrown all off his guard when he pulls back. He isn’t dizzy, not this quickly, but the room seems to sway. He swears it does. 

He doesn’t think about how Connor must taste just like the wine.

Connor happily takes the bottle back, puts his lips to it, and downs some more. He says, between sips, “this is good. I feel better.” Another gulp. “Do you feel good?” 

Leon gets the bottle back. Rinse and repeat. He’s dizzy this time. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Yeah, I feel good.” 

“I can make you feel better.” It sounds offhand, casual, but Leon’s face sets aflame when Connor dips in close to coax the bottle back. He can feel the blood in his cheeks _boil_ watching him press his mouth to the bottle. It’s different, it’s intense. His stomach flips. 

“Yeah?” Leon almost doesn’t know what to say, too caught in the moment. He doesn’t stutter over his words, but he does say, “I think about that a lot. Me and you. Us.” 

They’re maybe fuckbuddies. Maybe friends-with-benefits. Leon doesn’t know what they are. He came to the goddamn NHL awards for Connor without a single promise of sex. 

He isn’t sure if talking like this is anything short of a mistake, but his lips are loose. It falls out. 

Connor looks at him with these big doe eyes. This look everyone’s seen him with. But not like Leon. Leon sees it differently, sees it when Connor’s come-dumb and riding a wave. He sees it after telling Connor he wants his dick in his mouth. He’s seeing it now, with Connor pink from his neck up, and Leon — Leon _wants_. 

“Leon,” Connor says, it sounds almost clipped. “Fuck, you’re hot. You know that?” He brings the bottle to his lips again. 

Leon isn’t sure how much they’ve downed. Connor’s had too much, maybe. 

He gets the bottle back, drinks, and decides he’s had too much too. There’s still a quiet swish of liquid. The room is blurry. It’s silent too, apart from the wine. 

Leon swallows another gulp, and nearly flinches when he feels the pads of Connor’s fingers on his throat. 

Then, it’s his mouth, and his teeth, and Leon lets his eyes flutter shut because it’s the offseason and they can do whatever the hell they want. 

Connor’s hands are soft on his wrist, holding the hand with the bottle still. His mouth isn’t as gentle, the scratch of teeth, the drag of his lips. Leon catches himself sliding a hand into the back of Connor’s hair and losing himself in it. 

“How much is left?” Connor asks, when he pulls back. He sounds breathy. 

“Not too much.” 

Leon hands it back. It’s a big bottle. There should be more. Still, Connor takes the rest of it down like it’s water.

Leon’s so fascinated by him at this point, so drawn into every little movement he makes, that he watches and watches and watches. Connor smiles when he catches his eye. 

The bottle gets set down on the floor.

“You, um. You should — fuck me,” he says, and blows out a little breath. Shifts. He looks like the collar of his shirt is suffocating him. “I just. I need to feel something.” 

“You’re sure,” Leon says, but he’s already closer to him, already hovering right near Connor’s lips. His breath smells like fruit, and it’s warm fanning out over Leon’s skin. 

“I know what I want,” Connor says. He meets Leon’s eyes as his fingers start doing away at the buttons of his shirt. He leans back against the headboard. “Or I can just finish myself off.”

Leon sucks in his bottom lip, wavering. 

“Okay,” he says, quick. “Okay. I’ll. We can do that.”

-

Leon’s seen it a million times. Connor underneath him, face pressed into the bed sheets, practically gasping for air. He’s seen the same flex of muscles in his back, the same ass up for display, the same quiver of his arms. 

Somehow, it’s better every time.

And Leon could never have imagined it, reaching in to feel the ripple of brand new muscle along Connor’s side, pressing into the firm skin and feeling him squirm. That’s something he’ll never forget. Something ingrained into his brain. The way Connor will thrash around. How he shakes, or trembles, how easy it is to get him like that. 

He begs, “please, fuck, c’mon. I can take it.”

The alcohol is still heavy in Leon’s head. The room is still hazy, everything slightly off center, but _that’s_ clear as day. 

Connor looks over his shoulder and his eyes are bright, bright, bright, it’s all there, and Leon could look at him like this for hours. Bent over for him, bare assed, like he can hold the position for as long as Leon wants to see him in it. 

He strokes his own dick while he drags his eyes over every inch of Connor spread out for him. Any other day, he thinks he could hold out long enough to fuck Connor with his fingers until he’s got him crying into the sheets. Until he’s a shaking, whining mess. Until Leon could finish at just the sight of him. 

It’s rewarding, to get to mess up something pretty and polished and perfect. It’s never gonna fade, the excitement in his veins at the idea of fucking Canada’s golden boy. Every time.

Connor lets out a little noise, something impatient, and Leon rubs his dick along Connor’s ass until it catches on his hole. That coerces another sound out of him, imploring and desperate, and Leon breaks. 

“You want it? You’re ready?” Leon asks, but he knows the answer. He knows it as he sinks the head of his dick in, knows it like the back of his hand while pulling a groan out of Connor. 

Leon presses his hand to the back of Connor’s head and pushes it against the mattresses. The next grunt from him is muffled. Neither of them know how thin the walls are, this is just safer. 

It takes a while before he can start snapping his hips like nothing. The slide is still jagged, Connor’s always going to be tight, but Leon works against it. Over and over and over until he’s on the edge of fucking Connor up the bed. 

He’s got enough of a grip on him to keep him still, enough to glue him into place and keep on going, but each little cry from Connor just makes him want to push harder. The slap of skin is loud, louder than anything else, and Leon keeps going. Keeps fucking into him like this is the last time they’re seeing each other. 

“You take it so good, Connor, always so fucking good for me,” Leon drawls out. Maybe just to hear the response from Connor. The garbled nonsense from against the bed sheets. This desperate little moan from him. 

Leon could do this all day. 

It’s not much longer, though, until he feels himself unravelling. That’s when he reaches around to give Connor a hand. What works is this quick snap of his wrist, the slightly too tight grip of his fingers, just how he knows he wants it. How he always wants it. 

Leon finishes first. Not inside, but rather over Connor’s ass. It’s in these ribbons of white, splashing right over his skin, and Leon watches it dribble down, still working his wrist, still bringing Connor closer and closer. It’s just. So. 

He’s moved his hand from the back of Connor’s head, but each sound that comes from him is still muffled, pressed into the sheets, and Leon wants to give him his everything. Connor doesn’t lift his head once. Even after he makes a mess of the sheets, Leon can hear him panting against the bed. It’s heavy, exhausted.

“Connor,” he says, quietly. “C’mere.” 

That’s all it takes to get him to turn around. It doesn’t matter what more gets on the sheets, they’re already filthy, but Connor still cringes. Leon sees it wash over his face, and he feels a smile bend his lips out of shape. 

“It’s okay,” he tells him. 

“It’s kind of gross,” Connor insists, but leans in regardless. 

They kiss and they kiss and Leon will never tire of this either. The way his heart jumps out of his chest with every time he feels the slide of Connor’s mouth against his. The brand new feeling of ecstasy that sets into his skin when Connor leans into him, when he keeps coming back for more and more and — it’s addictive. It’s like a drug. 

Leon could get high off just Connor and that’s one of those thoughts he tucks away somewhere deep, dark, and secret. It’s something he doesn’t know exactly how to voice. 

Instead, he says, “you feeling okay? Like, really, really okay. I mean it.” And hopes that works. Hopes that even a shred of how much he cares wafts into that. 

Connor nods. It’s a quiet gesture. “Yes,” he says simply. He kisses him again, it’s just a peck this time. “I’m okay, I swear. I’m so okay.” 

Leon blinks at him. He believes it.

They’re somewhere in Vegas, an empty bottle of wine on the floor, a can of beer on the nightstand, a bloom of affection in his chest, and all Leon can think about is the dazed look on Connor’s face and. That’s just fine.


End file.
